


Bamboo Shoot and Lotus Root

by Byacolate, mywordsflyup



Series: Claws and Crumbs and Red Bean Buns [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dragon Genji Shimada, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Shambali Shenanigans, Weredragon Genji, Young Genji Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:40:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: Genji may be impulsive, but he’s not completely irreverent.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naopao](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naopao/gifts).



> We were commissioned by amazing and wonderful Naopao, who wanted snippets of Genji's backstory with Zenyatta from Spring Onion. It isn't 100% necessary to read Spring Onion for this sucker, but I'd recommend it. -B

It’s… bigger than he thought it’d be.

 

Something about the idea of a monastery run by Omnic monks, tucked away in the mountains in far off Nepal had seemed so diminutive. Whatever he’d imagined the Shambali monastery to be, it was… well. It was nothing like this - the sprawling grounds in the village behind him, and a pathway lined with gargantuan, half-carved statues of Omnics. The temple is built into the wall of a mountain, great towering stone. Yellow banners drift in the breeze, a cheerful splash of color against the cold hard rock face of the mountain.

 

Genji spares a second of sympathy for the tour guide down in the village, who likely can’t imagine where her Japanese tourist has disappeared to, but. Well. He’d left a note with the innkeeper, hadn’t he? He’s not nearly as irresponsible as people would like to believe.

 

There’s something about the air up here, crisp and clean and thinner than a knife’s edge that keeps Genji from sleeping. He practically buzzes with energy, and waiting around for a family of five and a newlywed couple to rise and waste the morning getting themselves around when Genji was up before dawn doesn’t suit him; spending half the day climbing the mountain when he knows he can manage within a good hour suits him even less.

 

Nothing against his tour buddies, but they’re worse than dead weight.

 

Genji takes in the entryway to the temple with a suitable amount of awe before he snaps a quick picture for his blog and wanders in closer.

 

It’s still early, the rising sun throwing long shadows on the path in front of him. But somehow, the monastery seems far from sleepy. It’s not the hectic morning atmosphere he knows from other cities, or even Hanamura, but there’s a kind of energy in the air that urges him forward.

 

He hears soft chimes somewhere in the distance. He hasn’t even noticed that the loud mountain winds seem to have quieted down, if due to the convenient location of the monastery or out of sheer respect - Genji would be inclined to believe either.

 

He cranes his neck to take in the size of the temple rising up into the sky in front of him and is distracted enough that he almost misses the movement to his right. Just a flash of color, more yellow, between the stone statues. When he stops and turns his head, he catches the glint of sunshine on metal before it vanishes within the temple.

 

Excitement grips him and his feet carry him a few steps to the right before he’s even realized it. He knows exactly what his brother would say about him blindly giving in to some random urge, following something shiny down an alleyway. But he pushes the thought aside, too curious to pay the disapproving voice in the back of his head any mind.

 

Even their father had said that it was a Dragon’s prerogative to seek bright and glimmering things.

 

Genji may be impulsive, but he’s not completely irreverent. He stops at the temple doors and presses his palms together for a quick bow before he crosses the threshold. Immediately within is a room and two doorways, one that leads left, and one that leads right. Between the chill winds of the mountain and the still air inside, Genji feels warmth drifting from either side. The scent of incense lingers and the breeze carries it off, caught only briefly between the heat of the temple and the natural elements.

 

There are no signs of the figure he’d meant to follow in either direction so Genji shrugs to himself and takes a left.

 

Heat envelops him almost instantly. Whatever system the Omnics have in place to keep themselves at a moderate temperature is only further warmed by the fires stoked about the inner temple.

 

The Shambali only recently caught the attention of the world; news reports had spread not so very long ago about a cloister of Omnics in the mountains of Nepal who had devoted themselves to peace and enlightenment. From the tour guide herself, Genji’d learned that even now, not two years after international news caught on of their existence, people were already making pilgrimages; even more surprising to hear was that she guided more pilgrims to the mountaintop than tourists.

 

Inside the temple, the chimes are clearer, and aside from this, there is a heavy calm about the place. Across the wide room, he can see a few Omnics tending to their chores - one sweeps the floor with a handmade broom, swathed in mossy green. Another tends to a fireplace, their head wrapped in a petal pink scarf. Two rest in an alcove lit by candles, folded in the lotus position for meditation, or maybe prayer.

 

The thought occurs to him that perhaps coming here without a guide has been a stupid idea after all. On his own, he’s just a man who walked into their temple, with no intention or goal in mind other than to sate his own curiosity.

 

His steps falter, almost expecting to be called out for trespassing any second now. But the few Omnics who notice him only nod at him in acknowledgement before returning to their chores, as if he belongs here just as much as they do.

 

It’s difficult not to feel welcome in the warm light of the fire and the soft sound of the chimes, and when he moves forward, nobody stops him. He still feels uncertain but his curiosity urges him on.

 

The further he goes, the more Omnics he comes across. Some of them greet him with a nod or even a few words, all of them dressed in colorful and comfortable clothes, but none of them in the yellow he spotted outside.

 

No matter; he supposes the color was more or less circumstantial. Fixation on the first sign of life, as it were. Curiosity for curiosity’s sake.

 

Genji strolls along, gazing at the tapestries hung from the high ceiling when he feels a cold breeze. Crisp mountain air fills his lungs, and further along the wall, the bright light of day shines from the arch of an alcove. Genji nods to a monk in earthy brown that he passes as he pokes around through the alcove.

 

Down a short flight of steps, a covered terrace juts out of the stone of the mountain. The morning sun is almost harsh in its shine. It isn’t unoccupied - there, leaning over the railing, is an Omnic in nothing but a pair of yellow pants.

 

“That looks dangerous,” he mutters, wandering down the steps toward the monk. Wind whips through the terrace, tussling Genji’s hair. He tucks his scarf a little further up his face as he peers over the rail toward what could possibly be so interesting.

 

The Omnic says something in a language Genji doesn’t understand, gesturing toward… a nest.

  
There’s a nest just below, full of eggs.

 

There’s no bird in sight but it doesn’t look abandoned, just perfectly constructed to stay safe from vicious mountain winds and curious onlookers. Unless those onlookers are leaning over the railing far enough to make something in Genji’s gut fall into his balls at the sight.

 

“Is this really worth falling over the edge for?” he asks in Japanese, hoping just saying anything might be enough to make the Omnic move back.

 

The Omnic cocks his head and Genji recognizes the half-second it usually takes them to switch from one language setting to another.

 

“I could not think of anything more worthy,” the Omnic says, his voice surprisingly pleasant. It’s difficult to tell but Genji thinks he detects a hint of amusement in it. There’s definitely some in the way he finally moves away from the railing, his legs folding into a cross legged position until he’s hovering a few feet off the ground. His hands come to rest in his lap. “I was hoping for their mother to return, but I fear I have frightened her away.”

 

Genji props his elbows on the smooth stone rail beside the Omnic and leans over only half as far as his companion had, and…

 

He’s no stranger to performing dangerous feats from unsettling heights for the rush, but the drop below makes even his stomach turn. Not too quickly, (but none too slowly) Genji pulls away from the rail.

 

The Omnic and yellow follows suit.

 

“Greetings,” the monk tells him with a lifted hand, all cheer. “My name is Tekhartha Zenyatta. You are most welcome here.”

 

“Oh. Uh. Hi.” Genji grins and gives a cheeky salute. “Shimada Genji.”

 

“Your hair is _wonderful_.”

 

Genji blinks. Then he laughs, raking a hand through the bright green strands. “Thanks! I’ll have to recolor it soon. The roots are showing.”

 

Zenyatta moves towards him, just a little bit before stopping. “Do you dye it yourself? How does that work? I do not think I have ever seen someone with hair quite so… vibrant.”

 

Genji doesn’t think he’s ever come across anyone so curious about his hair color. But there isn’t even a hint of mockery or dishonesty about Zenyatta’s demeanor. Only genuine interest.

 

“Uh, it depends,” Genji says, suddenly very aware that he’s still touching his own hair like he’s only just noticed it himself. He drops his hand and smiles a little sheepishly. “I went to a salon a couple of times but it’s quicker if I just do it myself.”

 

“I like it,” Zenyatta says emphatically. And then after a small pause, “You came to see the monastery.”

 

“Oh, yes. I did.”

 

“But you do not have a guide. Most people come accompanied.”

 

Genji laughs and is glad that it sounds a lot more confident than he feels. “I kind of… ditched mine?”

 

To Genji’s surprise, Zenyatta _laughs_. It sounds… incredibly authentic. If Genji were pressed, he’d call it a giggle.

 

“I would like to offer my services, even should the same fate befall me.”

 

Something in Genji imagines there’s a very slim chance he’ll be running from this fascination.

 

For the moment, at least.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Genji’s lived with the Shambali for precisely six weeks, and one thing that never fails to astonish him is the sheer number of werebeasts that make the trek up the mountain.

 

Omnics, he can understand - people seeking something greater, a purpose of their own making, pinpointing a soul within their metal shells. Humans are a bit of a stretch, but not terribly so; many consider Omnics in their lives as loved ones, and join them on their journeys up the mountain as support. There is more love in humans for Omnics than Genji might have thought.

 

But Beasts come, in no small numbers, seeking… something. Compassion for the _Other_ , Genji figures, watching Wolf after Fox after Wolf journey to the Shambali.

 

They pay him no mind, even the ones who must catch his scent as soon as they enter through the temple doors, and he doesn’t go out of his way to approach them. Most of them are taken in with open arms, woven into the everyday rhythm of the monastery, just as Genji was.

 

Some only come for a short visit, some stay longer. None of them stay as long as Genji does.

 

He spots one of the new arrivals, a lynx if he’s not mistaken, sitting cross-legged in a quiet part of the temple. He keeps his distance but even from here he can see the warm firelight on her face, deeply lost in mediation. Genji never exchanges as much as two words with her but he remembers her arrival just a week prior. She was skittish, restless. Nothing like the person he sees before him now.

 

Something about it bugs him, a spark of irritation flaring up in his chest.

 

By now, he’s used to the way Zenyatta sometimes just appears by his side - perfectly silent as he hovers above the ground. It doesn’t startle him anymore, even when he’s lost in thought like this.

 

He knows Zenyatta follows his gaze and knows exactly who he’s watching. But he stays silent, giving Genji the opportunity to speak his mind if he wants to.

 

By now, he knows well that Genji can never keep silent for long.

 

“This is…” From the distance, he gestures at all of her - the claws she’s unsheathed, the protruding fangs. “Where I’m from, this is unseemly.”

 

Zenyatta’s fingers interlace in his lap as he observes the woman for himself.

 

“What about her offends your senses, Genji?”

 

“Me? No, I’m not -” he scrambles, a sharp stab of horror at having his own cultural prejudice warring with the prejudice itself. To share a thought with his family, with his brother, about something like this… “No. No, it’s… something my brother would say, that a person could…” He gestures vaguely to her. To himself. “Reveal so much. Unseemly.”

 

“You do not share this thought?”

 

“No.” He grimaces. “I… maybe, for a moment. But it isn’t… this is natural, isn’t it?”

 

“Isn’t it?”

 

Genji wrinkles his nose. “Yeah. Of course it is, right? It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.”

 

“Doesn’t it?”

 

He should be used to that too by now. Coming from any other person, it might’ve been irritating but there’s no… trickery in the way Zenyatta asks his questions.

 

Genji takes a deep breath. “Not here,” he says, trying to find the right words. “But _here_ is not _out there_.” He gestures towards the temple doors.

 

“Ah. The courtyard.” Perhaps no trickery, but certainly some teasing from time to time.

 

“The world!” Genji’s voice’s grown louder without him realizing it and he quickly lowers it again. The lynx girl doesn’t seem disturbed in the slightest.

 

“I see,” Zenyatta says, tilting his head. “And is it the world or the people in it that worry you so, Genji?”

 

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Genji asks and when Zenyatta doesn’t answer right away, he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. “Some people… Most people don’t like it.”

 

Zenyatta hums. “In my experience, there are many things people dislike. Would you ask her to change those as well? Her hair, her nose, her laugh? If people were to disapprove?”

 

Genji huffs. “Of course not.”

 

“Do you share your brother’s sentiments?”

 

He shakes his head. “I hope not.”

 

“In this respect, then, your thoughts and actions harm no one.”

 

Genji eyes her claws again - short. Blunted. Her fangs - little more than a cosmetic underbite. A tame enough creature, no matter the form.

 

Not like Genji at all.

 

He shrugs, ducking away. “Yeah. Maybe. Hey, Zenyatta, what’s for dinner?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


 

He’s restless again. It’s gotten worse, since his stash of tea has dwindled over the past several months; he’d cut down only marginally on his dose, at first, and then by half. Now, he uses so little that by the time he deems it steeped enough, the water is unpleasantly cool. Genji swallows the bitter leaves with the water as well.

 

But it isn’t as effective - of course it isn’t. Genji is too large for his skin, feels himself bursting at the seams at the strangest moments: when the sun rises over the mountain peaks to the east; when a mother bird swoops through the rafters, unbothered by the clustered, exaggerated monks; the click-clack of wooden sandals when Zenyatta lowers his feet to the ground; when Zenyatta fiddles with his new mala, the orbs dancing through the air in both play and meditation; when the firelight casts shadows over the intricate circuitry of Zenyatta’s spine.

 

It’s too much.

 

Genji closes his eyes but that doesn’t help. With the images replaying in his mind, they feel even closer, bleeding into each other. He feels a shiver running down his spine, heat growing in his chest.

 

When he pushes open the temple doors, he’s greeted by the icy winds of the mountain, a few snowflakes hitting his hot cheeks. He takes a deep breath. The cold cuts through the haze like a knife but he knows it won’t be enough.

 

With the winter months, the stream of visitors to the monastery has trickled away to just a few people. Most days, Genji finds the grounds deserted, save for the Omnics who mostly keep to the temple.

 

In case of a disaster, there would still be too many of them.

 

Another sharp breath. He can’t start thinking like that. It’s the first step to giving in.

 

“Genji.”

 

He turns sharply to see Mondatta in the hall behind him. Quickly, he dips his head in greeting.

 

“Master Mondatta.”

 

“I believe Zenyatta would scold me if he knew I let you stand in the cold without a word of reprimand.”

 

Genji feels a quiet laugh bubbling up, ducking his head. “I’m not as susceptible to the cold as humans, but thanks for the concern.”

 

Mondatta’s Japanese is crisper, more formal than Zenyatta’s. He was a line of code written with the grace and poise in mind that most of the Shimada only dream of. He steps forward, white and silver robes soundless with his steps. “A storm is coming. Do you intend to journey into the village?”

 

Genji licks his lips and stares back out at the building wind and snow.

 

“Something like that. I may not… return, until tonight. Late.”

 

“I will not attempt to stop you, but I feel it my duty to advise against travel until this weather has passed.”

 

Another gust of wind brings new snow with it but Mondatta seems completely unfazed.

 

Genji doesn’t think any storm could seriously harm a dragon but he doesn’t have enough experience to be sure. Then again, it might just exhaust him enough to keep him from doing too much damage to… whatever he might come across.

 

“You seem troubled,” Mondatta says, in a tone so similar to Zenyatta that it almost makes Genji laugh.

 

“No, I’m just… thinking.”

 

He can hear Mondatta’s humming even over the sound of the wind. “While I would not advise anyone against _thinking_ , sometimes it is so much thought that stands between us and the solution to our problems.”

 

Genji isn’t sure if he could have grasped the meaning behind Mondatta’s words even if he didn’t feel like clawing apart his own skin. But like this, they just run through his fingers like sand.

 

“Thank you, Master,” he says just as the wind picks up once more, violently tugging at his clothes. He lifts the orange scarf around his neck further up to cover his ears and nose. His coat, he zips up to his throat. “I will return.”

 

“Go in peace,” Mondatta nods, and Genji leaves him at the door.

 

The trip down the mountain is familiar, a path half covered in snow he’s trod perhaps a hundred times in the past few months, but Genji has no intention of reaching the village. He veers from the path when he reaches the midway point, a fork that leads from the main path down a rocky trail down the mountainside. In the summer, the village hunters walk this path to hunt for mountain goats and fat nesting birds.

 

Genji, of course, walks it alone. The clouds overhead make the mountain dark, despite the early morning hour. He only slips on the icy rock a few times, though he doesn’t fall. It feels like a year has passed by the time he makes it far enough down the trail that he can’t see the towering monastery above, and the trail has dwindled to a precarious slope downhill.

 

“This is a bad idea,” he mutters, even as his entire body tingles with anticipation.

 

He hasn’t shifted in years but he’s happy to find out it’s not exactly something one just forgets how to do. Once he gives in to it, it’s like a dam that’s finally broken, the transformation washing over him before he even has time to second-guess his decision. It’s a little disorienting, not exactly pleasant, but once he’s started there’s no going back.

 

He can hear his blood rushing in his ears, excitement bubbling in his chest. Even here, in snowy isolation, the assault on his senses is overwhelming. The scents and noises so sharp all of a sudden.

 

He whips around, staggering a little bit. Turns out it’s not quite like riding a bike, navigating in this unfamiliar form. He feels laughter building up in his chest, wild and uncontrollable, but the noise that comes out is nothing like his laugh. He hears it echo back from the mountainside, carried off by the wind not a second later.

 

A small voice in the back of his mind tells him that the storm has picked up but it’s lost amongst the rush of it all.

 

Genji can _fly_ again. His great, sharp claws find purchase in the mountain and he runs, he leaps, he sails. He roars with the wind - he might as well _be_ the wind, a force of nature, a storm unto himself. The height doesn’t bother him now.

 

Drifting up, clawing at nothing but air, he can see miles and miles over the mountain tops - snowy peaks and grey, grey sky. The cold doesn’t touch him in this form, and when he feels a flame build in his chest, he doesn’t stop it; flame streams from his mouth, and smoke curls from his nostrils long after it’s gone.

 

He loops once, and again, and his stomach swoops like he’s on a roller coaster before he dives down, down, down until his claws dig into the mountain once more.

 

In the rush of freedom and instinct, Genji pushes off the mountainside again and crawls through the mountains like a serpent. He loses track of time, battling the growing storm with fire breath almost like a game, until slowly, slowly, the hours (how long?) creep up on him.

 

Sooner or later, Genji comes to a stop against an outcropping of rock. Just… stops. He takes stock of himself (panting, his core fire-hot, his scales as cold as ice), and the weather (a havoc of howling wind and ice). He looks around and knows… nothing. Genji doesn’t know where he is.

 

Unsurprising, given his loss of control. No matter. He trots off the edge and drops into the wind, rising through the air like a green ribbon. For a time, Genji drifts, eyes sharp and searching for a building in the rock, a trail of smoke, even the faintest splash of yellow.

 

There is nothing. Just grey and white for miles and miles.

 

The wind whips snow into his eyes and he shakes his head, letting out a small gust of fire out of frustration. He lets himself sink lower but it’s no use. It all looks the same to him. For all he knows, he could be miles away from the monastery by now. Or perhaps it’s just behind the next mountain range. It’s impossible to tell through the storm.

 

He lands at the side of a mountain that at least for the moment shields him from the worst of the wind, his claws digging into ice and stone. He turns his head, trying to pick up a scent or a sound that could lead him into the right direction, but the wind is making it impossible.

 

After a moment, he climbs down a little bit, mostly because the howling of the wind is starting to annoy him. He still can’t really feel the cold, even with the snow high enough to reach his belly, but with the initial excitement gone he’s starting to feel weary.

 

It’s exhausting to move through the high snow but he fears the wind would carry him even further away if he started flying again. He melts the snow in front of him but it’s only a small victory against the elements. One that he won’t be able to keep up indefinitely.

 

Now that he‘s face to face with his dying adrenaline, Genji’s thoughts are an endless stream of chastisements at himself. Hanzo’s voice sparks in his mind like kindling. How could he have been so careless? So foolish?

 

_He feels alive._

 

How could he have lost control so willfully?

 

_He was free._

 

Of course it would come to this - a man, an adult, lost in the mountains at the mercy of the elements because he refused to curb his own damnable impulses. He could die like this, naked and frozen in the snow, alone.

 

_He wants to go home._

 

Home! What a notion! The control of his dragon, a tenuous thread long snapped, unleashed upon all those villagers? The monks? Master Mondatta? Master Zenyatta?

 

_Zenyatta._

 

His roar, this time, sounds like anguish. A child’s cry to its mother. Only the wind howls back.

 

Hanzo’s voice returns, then, no less fierce, but... changed. If Genji has the energy to pity himself, then it’s energy wasted. Night is coming. He must fly.

 

So Genji flies. He winds around mountains, flowing with the wind with the memory of flying against it in his play. The storm and walls of the mountains turn the whole world monochromatic. Desperation claws at him so badly that at the first splash of color in the distance, Genji’s heart leaps into his throat.

 

It’s there on the rock face to the west: bright yellow.

 

The banners draped high on the wall of the monastery.

 

Relief makes Genji sink like a stone before he swims through the air toward the temple. He’s so preoccupied that he almost doesn’t notice another burst of color on the ground. More yellow and a splash of red moves about a hundred paces from the monastery. The storm is a trial for even a dragon; it‘ll be fatal for someone so small, organic or otherwise.

 

Following his instincts, Genji diverts his flight from the temple to the ground. With a great plume of snow upon impact, Genji lights upon the earth before the figure swathed in deep red, their body mostly covered in the thick fabric but for a pair of familiar yellow pants.

 

The nine lights on Zenyatta’s forehead glow bright under the dark red wrap around him, and Genji moves forward, pulled to him by recognition, familiarity.

 

“Genji,” Zenyatta calls, reaching out. A desperate sound leaves Genji’s throat and he dives for Zenyatta, head butting against his stomach. He smells like his favorite incense and wool, and his arms come up to embrace Genji’s head. “Oh, Genji,” he says, staticky with emotion, “I was coming for you. Where have you been?”

 

Genji wants to tell him. Everything. How he flew and how he got lost and how he only wanted to come home. But he can’t speak, not like this.

 

He whines instead, a noise of pure frustration: _"Zenyatta."_

 

Zenyatta’s arms tighten around him.

 

“It’s alright, Genji. You are alright.”

 

But nothing’s alright. They’re still in the middle of a storm and Genji still can’t speak and it hits him so suddenly even though it never should’ve been a surprise in the first place. He doesn’t know how to shift back.

 

He’s never returned to his human form without his father’s help. Never without his claws in his back and his teeth at his throat and, according to Hanzo, a whole bunch of dumb luck. He’s never had to do it on his own.

 

There are no claws digging into his back now, just Zenyatta’s fingers in his mane and his calm voice speaking to him.

 

“It’s alright. Let us get out of this storm.”

 

Out of the storm. Back to the temple.

 

Zenyatta must sense his hesitation, even now. Even in this form. He runs one hand over Genji’s snout, the other stays in his mane. “You have done well. You found your way back. Now allow me to guide you the rest of the way.”

 

Zenyatta leads him along, step after step, toward the temple. The wind whips snow up around them, and it howls against the mountains with the storm. But Zenyatta’s focus is on Genji, who realizes he’s being foolish. He nudges Zenyatta on until his friend, his mentor, his companion lifts his legs and allows Genji to nudge him toward their destination.

 

The doorway is wide enough for him, he finds - more than wide enough. The temple itself welcomes him with open arms and a warm embrace, and something in Genji’s belly unfurls. He stumbles as he  presses Zenyatta in through the door and, like unspooling thread, Genji’s body shifts.

 

Again he stumbles, so much smaller and colder, and this time Zenyatta catches him.

 

“Oh, Genji,” Zenyatta sighs - why does he sigh, he doesn’t breathe - “I have you. Here.” The dark red cloak about his shoulders comes around Genji’s naked body, wool unpleasantly scratchy against his wet skin, but the further he’s pulled into the temple, the warmer he grows.

 

Several monks flock to them as they pass, tittering with relief and chastisement in a mix of binary and spoken tongue. Genji gathers that not all of the concern is for him.

 

He feels miserable, cold and achy and more than a little embarrassed. But mostly because Zenyatta put himself in danger for him, a fact that becomes more and more clear with every passing moment.

 

“I am glad to see you both returned.” Mondatta steps towards them, his robes are pristine as ever.

 

“Master Mondatta.” Genji doesn’t know what to say, even if he could get the words past his chattering teeth.

 

“I trust you will not go out into the storm again tonight?”

 

Genji thinks it should sound more like a reprimand than it does but he shakes his head and that is that. No anger, no disappointment. Just Genji’s own and perhaps that is enough for now.

 

Zenyatta leads him to the bath that Genji has used countless times before since he arrived at the monastery. But never has he been this glad to see the steam rising from the hot water and to smell the scent of fresh soap. He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of it. The cold of the mountain has crept into his bones, every muscle stiff with it.

 

And now that he’s finally home and warm, every fiber of his being… deflates.

 

“Master,” he says, catching Zenyatta as he lays a towel by the lip of the bathing pool beside him. Zenyatta lowers himself to his knees by the pool.

 

“Yes, Genji?”

 

Genji’s head rolls back against the stone to stare up at Zenyatta, his eyes barely open. “Can you wait to scold me until morning? I don’t think I’m awake enough for anything to sink in.”

 

Cool metal fingers drift over the hair plastered to Genji’s brow.

 

“I am so happy you have returned safe and whole,” he says, turning his hand to Genji’s cheek for the fleetest moment before he pulls away and stands. “You need rest, my bright one. And I will wait for the morning to hear your story.”

 

“And then you’ll scold me?” Genji calls when Zenyatta moves toward the door.

 

Zenyatta… laughs.

  
“And then, we will see.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

When Zenyatta offers him help with learning how to control his dragon form, somehow the first thought that comes to Genji’s mind is meditation. Not that meditation is something he’d ever thought he’d particularly enjoy or be good at (he still gets distracted by an itching nose or tingling leg sometimes). But thanks to Zenyatta, it’s something he knows how to do. A place to start. 

 

Then again, Zenyatta has never been anything short of surprising, so Genji only hesitates for a heartbeat when Zenyatta leads him outside beyond the temple instead of into a quiet room for contemplation.

 

It’s still cold, a thick blanket of snow covering everything in sight. It stays perfectly undisturbed when Zenyatta hovers across it, throwing a glance over his shoulder to make sure that Genji is following. Without the storm and fully clothed, the snow almost looks inviting. 

 

“Are you coming, Genji?”

 

Genji pulls up his scarf a little higher and steps out into the snow. “What exactly are we doing here, Master?” 

 

The swath of red cloth around Zenyatta doesn’t retain much body heat from his inner functions, but Zenyatta’s told him it keeps the snow from building in his gears and melting inside of him - not dangerous, but uncomfortable.

 

“I am not certain, Genji.”

 

He’s a smattering of color against a winter white world, each of his orbs drifting around his shoulders. Genji nearly trips over his own feet as he treads far less gracefully through knee-high snow.

 

“Not certain? You didn’t have a plan?”

 

“The plan is to act without a plan.”

 

Genji snorts, his teeth chattering. 

 

They don’t wander far from the monastery - not even as far as Genji had stopped Zenyatta a few nights before in the storm. Zenyatta turns to him, bundled in yellow and red, and spreads his arms. “Will you shift for me now, Genji?”

 

Genji stops and looks at him, his hesitation almost palpable in the air. The thing is, he wants to. Despite everything that’s happened, despite the feeling of shock and embarrassment still fresh in his mind, he still wants to. Just the thought of leaping into the clear skies above, to fly again, makes his heart beat faster. 

 

“I don’t think…” He stops, his eyes wandering to the monastery in the distance and back to Zenyatta. 

 

“We are far from the others, and there is no storm,” Zenyatta says, his orbs slowly drifting around his neck. “It is safe here.”

 

“You make it sound so easy,” Genji says. He doesn’t share every thought, and it’s mostly because he can’t stomach the thought that he’ll sound so much like his brother.

 

“It may not be easy,” Zenyatta says, “but it will not be the end of this world.” 

 

Genji almost wants to laugh but his chest feels too tight. Instead he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uncertain how to proceed. He’s never shifted like this, in front of someone just… to do it. Never so casually. 

 

Zenyatta watches him, patient as ever, waiting for him to make a decision. 

 

“How will you…” Genji grimaces. “If I can’t change back. If I… lose control, if you think I’ll hurt someone, how will you stop me?”

 

He’s contemplated then by the Omnic across from him, whose orbs float and rotate in a different direction, spinning with his thoughts. 

 

“What if I hurt  _ you _ , Master?”

 

“My trust in you is absolute,” Zenyatta says without pause. “I can see that the trust you place in yourself is not. Do not worry for me, Genji. Should danger present itself, I am not helpless.” He lifts a hand toward Genji. “Let me see you.”

 

The dragon under his skin itches and unfurls as Genji clumsily steps out of his clothes, hissing and cursing the cold all the while. Once his bare feet touch the snow, there isn’t much more time for hesitation. 

 

He’s much more prepared for the shift this time, the memory still fresh in his mind. He knows what to expect. The stretching and growing and the rush that comes with it. When his clawed feet hit the ground, he doesn’t stumble this time. 

 

Zenyatta in front of him hasn’t moved. He looks smaller somehow. Perhaps it’s just the different angle. The orbs float around him a little faster, gleaming enticingly in the sun. Genji decides to focus on them instead of on the urge to leap and run and fly. 

 

“Oh, Genji!” Zenyatta clasps his hands together. “You are  _ magnificent!” _

 

Genji thinks he probably doesn’t need the rush of pride he feels at those words but that doesn’t stop him from feeling it. He makes a noise, not quite a growl, and Zenyatta laughs. Genji feels his tail whipping back and forth, stirring up a cloud of snow behind him. The pent-up energy vibrates underneath his skin. 

 

Zenyatta drifts closer, hand outstretched. “Marvelous,” he says, pressing a hand to the side of Genji’s head. “Every form you possess is stunning.”

 

Affection bubbles through Genji and he can feel himself butting into the hand, the subtle shift of his whiskers on Zenyatta’s alloy. “Thank you, Master.”

 

“What would you like to do?”

 

Genji peers up at Zenyatta’s face, unchanging though his tone is inquisitive. He doesn’t know what he wants to do. It’s never… really been an option, before. He’s not sure he dares to believe it could really be one now.

 

“I can fly. Would you like to see?”

 

“Oh, Genji!” Zenyatta claps. “I _ would!” _

 

For Zenyatta, Genji soars.

 

He can hear his delighted call as he flies up high into the sky. It’s so different from the last time and somehow even more enjoyable. The sun stands high in the cloudless sky and the air is fresh and crisp. When Genji looks down he sees Zenyatta wave up at him, a fleck of red against the white snow. His orbs gleam in the sun, drawing Genji’s gaze and he dives back down in an elegant arch. 

 

He gets so close to the ground that he whips out a cloud of snow before starting another ascent. Zenyatta cheers him on and Genji can’t quite tell whether it’s that or the wild flying that is making his heart beat so fast. 

 

He flies up in a spiral when he notices a flash of silver to his left. One of Zenyatta’s orbs racing right next to his head before it circles him once and drops back down. It’s not so much a conscious decision as it is a primal need that urges him to make a sharp turn and chase after it. 

 

It’s fast, zigzagging in front of him, just out his reach. Every time Genji thinks he’s caught up with it, it makes a sudden turn or flies right over his head. When he finally catches it between his teeth, he lets out an excited bark and almost loses it again. He carries it back to Zenyatta, only letting go when he’s right over his head. 

 

“Well done, Genji!” 

 

A second orb flies upwards from the palm of Zenyatta’s hand and vanishes somewhere in the sky. Genji doesn’t waste a second before he gives chase. 

 

It’s only when he lunges for the orb and misses, tumbling over himself in the air, that he realizes what he’s doing - playing cat and mouse with a little silver ball. 

 

Playing  _ fetch _ . 

 

Deep, deep in his brain, a part of him recoils from the implication that he’s an animal, a base creature that derives pleasure from the games of common housepets. It’s Hanzo’s voice that whispers at him then, and his father’s, and it almost makes him sink when a second orb goes zipping past his snout.

 

Two balls of silver chase each other through the air in wide, smooth patterns that call to Genji. The voices in his mind disappear when Genji lunges for them.

 

He follows them in swooping arcs down toward the ground, catching one in his mouth and stumbling over the snow. He rights himself, shaking snow free from his mane as Zenyatta wanders close, mala rotating at an energetic pace around his neck. Genji eyes them as they move, feels his muscles coil in preparation for a pounce. 

 

Zenyatta holds out a hand before Genji’s mouth, and Genji pulls his lips back in a wide toothy grin before he releases the orb from within. 

 

“Do you think you can succeed with three?” Zenyatta asks when the orb lines back up with the rest of them. 

 

Genji can manage three. And even four for a while until he tries to catch two at the same time, misjudges a turn and tumbles down into the snow with a little yelp. Zenyatta swiftly steps out of the way without missing a beat, as if he’d sensed Genji’s mistake before he even made it. 

 

“That was wonderful,” Zenyatta says, drifting towards Genji where he climbs out of the snow. “How are you feeling?” 

 

Genji shakes the leftover snow off his scales. “Good,” he pants. “I don’t feel the cold in this form.” He huffs at the last bit of snow tickling his snout before he realizes that this wasn’t necessarily what Zenyatta asked. Or at least not the most relevant answer. But the truth is, he does feel good. Sure, if he thinks about it, the old anxieties are still there, but he’s been so focused on the orbs and the flying and Zenyatta.  

 

He feels good. He feels  _ great _ .

 

Something about this body doesn’t allow for much overthinking at all, past barebones instinct, so Genji lets that drive him when he presses forward to nudge against Zenyatta’s chassis. The red wool still smells like incense, and a little like maintenance oil Zenyatta prefers for his joints, but also there, faintly, Genji smells himself. 

 

A noise rolls around in his chest that he can’t call anything but a purr. 

 

“Thank you, Master,” he says, knocking Zenyatta back with his snout until Zenyatta’s dangling feet catch in the snow. He can hardly lose his balance with antigravity technology, so Genji knows that Zenyatta’s allowed himself to be pushed over into the snow. “Aha,” Genji purrs, snuffling into red wool, “I have caught my greatest prize.”

 

“Forgive me, Genji,” Zenyatta warbles, fingers in Genji’s whiskers, “but I do not think this was such a challenge.”

 

Genji breathes smoke into the wool when he laughs. “And yet, it is the most rewarding victory I’ve had all day.”

  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Genji can remember a time he couldn’t imagine shifting inside of a building. Having seen the destruction Hanzo caused to the home in Hanamura had always been enough to keep him from even considering it. But the rooms of the temple are spacious enough, even for a dragon. 

 

If he’s honest with himself, it has less to do with that and more with Zenyatta by his side, always there with encouraging words and light touches and flying orbs to hone his focus. It’d be disrespectful to attribute it to anything else. 

 

Zenyatta’s room has always seemed large to him, with high ceilings and lots of open space. But in this form, it’s almost cozy, forcing Genji to be conscious of every inch of his body. Zenyatta seems even smaller. 

 

Genji feels the urge to curl around him so he does, carefully moving his tail as to not hit anything in his movement. As usual, Zenyatta doesn’t seem surprised by it all, merely lowers himself to the floor and leans his back against Genji’s side. 

 

“You meditate poorly in this form,” Zenyatta muses, mala resting about his shoulders. Genji sighs.

 

“Yes, Master.”

 

It’s been good for him, these past couple months, to take time out of every day to shift. It works just as well as the tea for his control - perhaps even better. Genji takes an hour or two a day to stretch himself out, work all of his extra bones and muscles and instincts. Normally he prefers to do it outside where he can dip and soar and play, when Zenyatta’s schedule allows it. But another seasonal storm wracks the mountain, and he’s cooped up indoors.

 

Genji doesn’t mind shifting in the main temple, where he can drift lazily around the high ceilings and shoo the birds from the rafters for the Shambali, but there’s something… palpably satisfying about being closed up in Zenyatta’s quarters. His own room is unsuitable; too small, cluttered with the travel belongings he hasn’t used for travel in over half a year. 

 

But Zenyatta’s room is just big enough to ensure he doesn’t bump into things or walls or people. But just small enough to make him feel… Well, it’s Zenyatta. Genji likes being so close to him, curling around him and feeling his body pressed against him like this. It makes things sharper somehow. Clearer. The kind of focus and comfort he usually only experiences when he’s flying and chasing after Zenyatta’s orbs. 

 

“You are lost in thought again,” Zenyatta says after a while. He’s always been able to tell when Genji fails to let go of a thought. Of course it wouldn’t be any different in this form. 

 

Genji sighs again. “Yes, Master.” 

 

He rests his heavy head on the ground close to Zenyatta and isn’t surprised when he feels fingers running through his mane not a few seconds later. He closes his eyes, trying and failing not to purr at the sensation. 

 

“What is it that occupies your mind now, Genji?”

 

“You.” 

 

He cracks a great eye open to see Zenyatta’s head tilted as he scratches between Genji’s horns. 

 

“Me?”

 

He’s a little embarrassed, now. It’s hard enough to keep anything from Zenyatta when he has all his higher thought functions churning. The incense burning across the room, the hand in his mane, the impossibly quiet hum of Zenyatta’s inner mechanics - he’s lulled to the point where any filter he once had is dust.  

 

Candlelight casts Zenyatta’s cranium in a warm glow, and Genji rumbles, enfolding him tighter within the coil of his body. 

 

“Is that so surprising? I think of you often.”

 

Zenyatta’s hum is pleased. “I am happy to hear it, and to be in your thoughts. The sentiment is one we share, Genji.”

 

There’s a warmth in his chest that’s slowly spreading until he feels too big for even this body. He shifts his head a little, both to give Zenyatta’s fingers better access and to just be closer to him. 

 

If he could freeze this moment and stay in it forever, he would. If he could stay like this, coiled like a snake around Zenyatta. It’s a thought that comes from somewhere deep within, an urge like the need to breathe. Perhaps something better not examined too closely. 

 

He doesn’t even notice his tail moving in closer until it touches Zenyatta’s legs. He halts but Zenyatta’s fingers never stop. 

 

“Is this too tight?” Genji asks, prepared to release Zenyatta even though the mere thought pains him. 

 

“No,” Zenyatta says. “It’s perfect.” 

 

Genji shifts, rolls the front of his body to the side to free one of the claws tucked under himself for warmth. He pulls himself over Zenyatta’s legs and rests his head directly in his lap, claws curled around the plates and wires that make up his slender waist. He’s mindful of the ways they dip inside a long crack in the plating, nestling among Zenyatta’s circuitry. 

 

“This?”

 

“Ah…” 

 

Genji peeks up at him again to see the mala rising and rotating themselves around his neck. 

 

“Master?”

 

“That is… fine, Genji.”

 

Another paw comes up under Genji’s chin, affixing itself to the red cloth draped over Zenyatta’s thighs. The metal below the red wrap and yellow pants is warm with Zenyatta’s inner workings, comfortable for all the cloth pillowed between a heated lap and Genji’s head. The material smells entirely of Genji now, Genji and the incense he’ll forever associate with soft laughter and gentle hands.  

 

Zenyatta is perfectly, inescapably his. 

 

Genji hears the gentle hum of Zenyatta’s mechanics but this close to him, he feels it now as well. It’s so soft it would be lost if he were to move at all but keeping perfectly still, he feels it running through his body. It’s enough to lose himself in it, every inch of his body aware of Zenyatta’s. 

 

He doesn’t even notice his own purr until he hears Zenyatta’s soft laughter, gentle fingers running along the length of his snout. 

 

“It seems you were finally able to let go of your thoughts,” he says, every word vibrating through Genji. 

 

“You’re still on my mind.” 

 

More laughter, more felt this time than heard. “Is that so?” 

 

“Always.” 

 

Genji wishes he could get closer, however ridiculous that thought seems while coiled around Zenyatta to tightly. It’s not enough somehow, when there are still parts of him untouched, unexplored. Somewhere along the line, the warmth in his chest has turned into heat. 

 

“Hey, Zenyatta.”

 

“Yes, Genji?”

 

Genji releases a plume of smoke from his nose as he nuzzles into Zenyatta’s hip.

 

“Are you interested in me?”

 

“Very.” Zenyatta rubs between his eyes. “You are constantly interesting to me. Every day, my interest in you grows.”

 

“Are you being coy?” Genji grouses, huffing hot air. “Master, please.”

 

“Ah.” Zenyatta has his teasing voice now, lofty and playful. “Your implication was in the context of physical and emotional attraction. Or just one of the two?”

 

“Don’t tease me when I’m trying to flirt with you,” he grumbles, rubbing his chin against his mentor’s lap.

 

“Is that what this is?” Zenyatta asks but laughs a little at the whine building in Genji’s throat. “I apologize, Genji.” His voice gone a little softer, the pressure of his fingers pleasant against Genji’s scales. 

 

Genji peeks up at him. “So… you are? Interested?” 

 

He remembers being better at this. Or maybe just thinking that he was. Back when it didn’t matter as much as it does now. 

 

“Of course I am, my bright one. How could I not be?” He says it so lightly, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Maybe for Zenyatta, it is. Maybe for Genji, it could be.

 

It feels a little bit like a steep ascent when he’s flying, the same excitement bubbling in chest until he feels like he can’t contain it anymore. It’s usually the point when he breathes fire, which would… inadvisable right now. 

 

The urge to move is overwhelming but here isn’t enough space and he doesn’t dare to - not with Zenyatta so firmly held between his claws. 

 

It’s doesn’t take much for him to shift back nowadays. What used to seem like an unsurmountable problem just months ago, now takes little effort at all. One second he’s strong and big and coiled around Zenyatta, the next he’s kneeling beside him on the floor. 

 

His clothes lie on a neatly folded pile by the door, but Genji makes no move to retrieve them. Instead, he reclines sideways across Zenyatta’s lap again, tilting his chin in a fashion he hopes is charming. 

 

“Are you finished so quickly with your daily metamorphosis?” Zenyatta asks, carding his fingers through Genji’s hair like his mane never disappeared. Unabashed, Genji leans into his big hand.

 

“I thought there might be other ways we could... curb my energy.”

 

Zenyatta’s orbs spin a little faster, and if Genji didn’t know Zenyatta any better, he’d think it was out of excitement. But no - Genji knows that motion. That’s silent laughter. 

 

He pouts again, jutting his lower lip out as he droops down in a long, languid line of despair. Zenyatta pats his head. 

 

“Please, Genji. I would have you enlighten me on these methods. Let us curb your boundless energy together.”

 

Genji groans. “You’re teasing me again, Master.” 

 

“Only a little.” Zenyatta rests his other hand gently on Genji’s bare back. 

 

Genji perks up, hopeful but not quite believing. He’s loathe to move his head from where it lies so comfortably in Zenyatta’s lap but he turns and reaches up with one hand, carefully tracing the plates of his waist. He’s no expert in Omnic anatomy but he knows there are sensors and wires and all the interesting spots he’d like to explore. If only he knew where to start. 

 

Zenyatta runs his fingers through his hair, unbearably gentle. “What would you have of me, Genji?”

 

Genji runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he thinks, still trying to wrap his head around the situation at hand. It’s a bad habit he’s been scolded for a thousand times when he was a child. Zenyatta only waits for his response, patient as ever. 

 

Genji knows how to play charming and coy but with Zenyatta he’s also been honest. “I would like to touch you.” 

 

“And I would like that,” Zenyatta responds, so Genji wastes no time. He sits up, propped on an arm across Zenyatta’s lap. With his free hand, Genji palms at Zenyatta’s chassis. He follows the pistons from his shoulders to his head and then back down. 

 

Zenyatta’s shoulders are broad, his neck thick, his hands impossibly big. Genji bats an orb from the air when it knocks at his chin, playful. 

 

“Do you ever touch yourself, Zenyatta?” he asks, resituating himself until his legs are sprawled around Zenyatta’s hips.

 

There’s a little bit of hesitation now, in the way his orbs slow down in mid-air and the short pause before he speaks. “On occasion.” 

 

Genji tries not to seem too eager, even though he’s fairly certain Zenyatta can tell just by the way his breath hitches. “Would you show me?” 

 

And Zenyatta does. All the secret spots from his neck, down his spine, to the sensitive sensors in his ribcage. It’s different, fascinating, and Genji follows with fingertips and gentle kisses. Zenyatta turns his head to give him better access when Genji presses his lips to the side of his neck. 

 

Zenyatta hums, that familiar sound so dear to him, and the orbs speed up for a moment when Genji runs his fingers along the wires at his waist. He wonders what it feels like. If it’s similar to nerves. Similar to arousal.

 

“What about here,” Genji murmurs, mostly to himself as he slips his palm down Zenyatta’s pants. He’s seen Zenyatta unclothed before - he knows he wasn’t a model built for pleasure, beyond the barest bones of the sense. His pelvis is smooth, rounded just slightly, yet still he shudders when Genji cups him there.

 

“Zenyatta?”

 

“Ah. Yes. There are... nodes, along my... Here. Allow me to...” His voice warbles, unsteady as he reaches down to guide Genji’s hand.

 

Genji lets Zenyatta guide him through it, as in so many other things before - but this time purely for Zenyatta’s benefit. Pride and affection well up in his chest when Zenyatta starts shuddering and shaking in his arms. Even now he can’t keep himself from uttering praises for Genji, even with his voice breaking and unsteady. 

 

Genji keeps one hand pressed against Zenyatta’s chest, feeling the hum underneath his fingertips like a strange kind of heartbeat. The best kind. 

 

Zenyatta comes apart shaking but almost completely silent, with only Genji’s name unfinished before his voice fizzles out like an overload of his circuitry, going taut in Genji’s arms before he falls slack against him. 

 

Genji would think him gone if not for the steady hum underneath his hand and the orbs drawing lazy circles around them both. Zenyatta lifts a hand and cups the side of Genji’s face. 

 

“Breathtaking.” He speaks softly, his voice returned to its usual steady tone. “Had I breath, it would be stolen from me. Thank you, Genji.” 

 

“You’re welcome,” Genji responds automatically, though he snickers a little against Zenyatta’s face plate. “It’s a little faux pas to thank people for sexual favors, Master.”

 

“Is it? How peculiar.” Zenyatta rests a palm against Genji’s bare chest, before it glides over his shoulder to trace the green dragon tattoo. “Shall I thank you in some other fashion?”

 

Genji leans in a little closer and noses at the golden line of Zenyatta’s mouth plate before he kisses the point of his chin. 

 

“I’m all yours.”

 

Zenyatta goes about exploring Genji’s body with the same curiosity and awe with which he approaches everything. His touch is as gentle as ever, the metal of his hands warm on Genji’s skin. He takes his time, mapping out the planes Genji’s body. 

 

He seems particularly delighted by the sounds he draws from him, the sighs and gasps. The comfortable laughter at Zenyatta’s obvious fascination. He finds a couple of spots Genji never even knew could be this sensitive, this arousing. When Zenyatta runs his fingers down the inside of his arms, he feels his heartbeat quicken. Large hands gently pressing against the sides of his chest and waist make him moan almost shamelessly. 

 

“Where do you touch yourself, Genji?” Zenyatta asks, running his hands up his bare thighs like it’s the most casual thing in the world. 

 

Genji’d always wondered what it might be like to sleep with an Omnic. It was… nothing like this.

 

“I didn’t have to, usually,” he admits, flopping back on Zenyatta’s meditation mat. It’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, scratchy straw atop mountain stone, but Genji’s had worse. He reaches down to give himself a few slow tugs while he watches Zenyatta watch him. Zenyatta hums.

 

“A prolific lover.”

 

Again, Genji snickers. “That’s not how my brother would put it, but… yeah.”

 

He jerks a little when Zenyatta reaches down without preamble and squeezes his balls. “Fascinating. And understandable.”

 

Genji chokes on another laugh when Zenyatta nudges his hand away and takes him for himself.

 

“Like this?” Zenyatta asks, stroking him like he’s watched Genji do it before. 

 

Genji’s laugh is a little breathless. “Yes, a little bit more pressure and… Ah!” His back arches off the mat. “ _ Just _ like that.”

 

“You are very responsive.” Zenyatta says it like the highest praise and knowing him, it’s probably meant to be. He twists his hand in an upward motion, more experimentation than a trick, and Genji doesn’t even try to stifle his moan. “We should use some kind of lubrication next time.” 

 

Genji laughs, even as he can feel his orgasm building. That strange giddiness, not unlike the one he felt when he flew for the first time, fizzles in his chest like soda pop. 

 

When he looks up - and when did he close his eyes - Zenyatta is haloed in gentle flickering candlelight, and something fierce and possessive grasps at Genji’s chest. His fingers twitch and he can feel them grow sharp, the hot-prick of scales clustering up his arms as the ache spreads. 

 

“Zenyatta,” he breathes, dragging his claws over stone. A tiny yelp escapes him when Zenyatta squeezes at the base of his cock, soft laughter tinkling like chimes. 

 

“My Genji,” Zenyatta returns, gentling his touch once more. “How beautiful you are.”

 

Genji shuts his eyes when he comes, splashes of white across the green scales of his stomach. He throws an arm over his forehead, slumping bonelessly against Zenyatta’s mat, legs akimbo over his master’s. 

 

He’s breathless, his heart still beating fast in his chest. He makes no effort to make the scales or the claws disappear, revelling in the comfort of that in-between state - brought on by Zenyatta alone. 

 

Genji doesn’t think he can move, or maybe he just doesn’t want to. His limbs feel heavy but he lifts his arm enough to look at Zenyatta who is watching him, drawing shapes into the skin of his thighs with his thumbs. 

 

“Thank you, Master.”

 

Zenyatta’s laugh is a quiet thing. “I thought thanking one for sexual favors was a social faux pas?” 

 

“It felt appropriate now.”

 

He pats the mat beside him, and indulgently, Zenyatta lays down. 

 

Side by side, they stare at the ceiling, the light of the candles casting shadows in the rafters. The walls are too thick to hear the raging storm outside, but knowing that it’s there is enough to move Genji to roll over, pressing his cheek to what little warmth Zenyatta’s shoulder can offer. 

 

“Do you think you like sex, Master Zenyatta?” Genji asks idly as he traces the pistons of Zenyatta’s neck. The faint blue glow of the lights on his forehead is a comforting lull, and all nine appear when Zenyatta turns his faceplate toward Genji.

 

“Yes, I think I do. And I know I am pleased with what it makes of you, my brightest one.”

 

Despite the deep-seated pleasure at Zenyatta’s words, Genji grimaces at the tacky feeling of spend on his belly. Zenyatta’s quarters aren’t equipped for this sort of mess, and his clothes are so far away. In a fit of laziness, Genji allows himself to stretch and grow, sprouting fur and great scales as he winds his way around Zenyatta again. 

 

Zenyatta allows it - humors Genji with a hand pressed to his snout when Genji nuzzles up against him. He smells like sex and Genji, and Genji rumbles with satisfaction. 

 

“Master,” he drawls, smoke trickling from his nostrils to mingle with the dying incense. “Have you ever heard tales of dragon hoards?”

 

“I have some data on draconic folklore,” Zenyatta informs him, assuming the lotus position at Genji’s center. “In certain mythology, dragons tend to amass treasure troves in far-removed locations, and guard them jealously. Is this relevant, Genji?”

 

Genji’s head finds its way into Zenyatta’s lap again, nudging under Zenyatta’s arm until his perfect lotus is broken. He sighs, long and wretched with self satisfaction. 

 

“Not at all, Master. Shall we rest?”

**Author's Note:**

> Inquire about fic requests [here!](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/ask)  
> mywordsflyup's Tumblr: [damnable-rogue](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)  
> Byacolate's Tumblr: [wardencommando](http://wardencommando.tumblr.com/).  
> Byacolate's Battle.net ID: byacolate#1589


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